


Say Anything (But Say What You Mean)

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day is stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Anything (But Say What You Mean)

"This is for you."

Santana looks up from her desk. The new girl – a pretty blonde with the bluest eyes – is holding out a small red and white card with hearts all over it. She's carrying a stack of them, as are many of the other kids in her second grade class.

"Valentine's Day is stupid," Santana tells her.

"This isn't for Valentine's Day. It's um…" She looks up toward the ceiling in thought. "It's make-a-new-friend day."

Santana rolls her eyes. "That's dumb."

The new girl bites her lip. "You don't want to be my friend?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you don't want my card."

Santana shrugs her slender shoulders. "I don't need a card to be your friend."

The new girl smiles brightly and tucks her card back onto her stack. "Hi, I'm Brittany."

\--

"Be mine."

Santana turns to look at her friend, who plops a heart-shaped candy into her mouth. Brittany reaches into the bag on her lap and pulls out another.

"Soul mate," she recites.

She stuffs that one into her mouth, too. Santana rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the book she'd been reading. At eleven, she's decided she's too old to indulge Brittany's quirks, but somehow almost always ends up doing it anyway.

Beside her on the bed, Brittany shifts, her arm bumping against Santana's. "I love you."

"Don't eat too many of those things, Britt," Santana says without looking up. "They're not good for you."

"That's not on a candy," Brittany replies sweetly. "I just love you."

Santana flushes. "Valentine's Day is stupid," she mumbles.

"Today is love-your-best-friend day."

Santana looks up and smiles. "Yeah?"

Brittany nods. "Totally."

Santana hooks her pinky around Brittany's and tugs lightly. With her other hand, she reaches into the bag of candy and pulls one out. Brittany cranes her neck to read the words etched across it.

Suddenly, warm fingers press against Santana's cheeks, and Brittany swipes her lips across Santana's, once, very quickly. When Brittany pulls away, she blinks, her lashes brushing together, before she leans in again. Santana's eyes flutter shut, and this time, when Brittany's lips press against hers, she kisses back. Tension coils tightly at the pit of her stomach. Brittany is gentle but _sure_ in her movements, but too soon, it's over.

Somewhere at the back of Santana's mind, she knows that it's just the words _KISS ME_ in bright red on the heart-shaped candy. It's just Brittany's quirkiness and unrelenting affection. It's just—

Brittany pries open Santana's fist and takes the now-sticky piece of candy out of Santana's palm. Without much fanfare, she pops it into her mouth.

"That's—" Santana swallows hard, her tongue darting out to lick her own lips. "Ew, that's totally gross, Britt. My hand was all sweaty."

Brittany shrugs. "I like armpits."

Santana makes a face. "You what?" She shakes her head. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

Brittany leans her head against Santana's shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Santana turns her head and presses her face briefly against soft blond hair, her nose brushing skin. "It's still a stupid excuse for a holiday, but—Happy Valentine's Day, B."

They spend the rest of the day marathoning _Powerpuff Girls_ and eating ice cream until neither can move.

\--

"Is he mad?"

Santana slides her phone shut and tosses it into the armchair. She shakes her head and plops down on the couch next to Brittany. "Nah. It doesn't matter anyway."

"Puck's your boyfriend," Brittany argues gently.

Santana bristles. "He's not my boyfriend, and so what if he is?"

"You're supposed to spend the day with your boyfriend," Brittany explains with a shrug.

Santana tilts her head and tosses Brittany a curious look. "I'm just messing around with Puck. He's not my boyfriend or whatever. I don't want a boyfriend." Something flashes across Brittany's eyes, and Santana is quick to append, "Or a girlfriend."

Brittany looks down at her lap. "Oh."

Santana sighs. "Valentine's Day is stupid. I don't know why you care so much."

"I like it," Brittany says simply. "It's like Christmas. You get to give the people you love presents. Except nobody picks on Rudolph for being an alcoholic."

"Rudolph isn't an alcoholic."

"Whatever." Brittany leans her head against Santana's shoulder and pouts. "You're such a Grinch."

Santana reaches up and pinches Brittany's nose between her fingers, and Brittany laughs as she squirms away. Santana picks up a cushion and swings it at Brittany's head. Brittany dodges out of the way and tackles Santana to the couch, pinning her under the weight of her body.

Santana's eyes widen, but Brittany doesn't even hesitate; she leans down and presses her lips against Santana's. Immediately, Santana's eyes close, and her hands slide up Brittany's back in an effort to hold on to something. Her fingertips – fuelled partly by curiosity, mostly by need – brush over the ridges of Brittany's spine, and Brittany arches. Before Santana has a chance to process anything, Brittany's mouth slants down to Santana's jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and Santana lets out a moan.

"Wait," Santana manages, keeping her eyes shut as her palms glide over Brittany's shoulder blades. "I'm dating Puck," she whispers, even as her fingers tangling around the hair on the back of Brittany's head.

Brittany lifts herself onto her elbows. "You just said—"

"What the hell did you even do that for?" Santana interrupts, her chest twisting out of her ribcage. "You're a girl."

Brittany blinks, her faint eyelashes brushing. "I like girls." Her declaration is unhesitant, but she locks eyes with her best friend, silently seeking validation. "Is that okay?"

Santana's chest feels tight, suddenly, and she nods. "Yeah, Britt. Yeah, of course that's—that's okay," she says, even though it goes against everything she's ever known.

Brittany brushes a strand of hair off Santana's cheek. "Can we do that again? It made me feel really good."

There's something in the way Brittany asks that makes Santana's heart ache, and she takes a deep breath before pulling Brittany down again. Santana's lips part, and Brittany's tongue, warm and wet, swipes into her mouth. A rush of heat shoots through her at the contact. Something shifts, and it feels _right_ in a way she's never known before. Brittany's leg slips between Santana's thighs, and her hips begin rolling rhythmically. Santana gasps and cants her hips, searching for friction.

They're both still fully clothed when Santana tosses her head back and her body quakes as waves of pleasure wash over her. She breathes hard against the unexpected orgasm, her fingers threading through Brittany's hair as Brittany nuzzles into her neck with a soft giggle.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Santana flushes. "It's not a big deal." She's too self-conscious to offer to return the favor.

Brittany doesn't seem to care. "That was pretty good though, huh? Happy Valentine's Day, Santana."

Brittany, her body still firmly pressed against Santana's, nods off soon after, but Santana stares up at the ceiling and wonders what the hell just happened and why she wants so badly for it to happen again.

\--

It does happen again.

And again. And again and again and again. Sometimes with their clothes still on, but mostly without. They don't talk about what it means or why, but one of them will press the other into a quiet corner at a party, and hands will roam, eager lips sucking wet paths across heated skin. Santana tries to make it look good for all the stupid horny boys watching them, but most of the time she just wishes they could be away from it all, because there's nothing quite like watching Brittany – really _watching_ her – when she's breathing hard, her cheeks flushed and eyes glazy. Nothing like the sounds she makes, or the way she smiles, half sweet and half curious.

Sometimes they _are_ alone. Sometimes the kisses they share are quiet, and the words exchanged are soft. Sometimes it's just the two of them, wrapped up in bed sheets, limbs tangled together awkwardly. Santana hasn't figured out a way to hold Brittany comfortably yet, but neither seems to care.

"Santana?" Brittany murmurs, her voice foggy with sleep.

It's morning, Santana realizes when one of her eyes slits open and sunlight invades her vision. "Yeah, what?"

"Will you be my valentine this year?" Brittany asks, the length of her naked body curling closer against Santana's.

Santana sighs. "We've been through this, Britt."

"I just think—"

"Look, we just joined _glee club_." Santana rolls onto her back. "You want our social status to plummet some more?"

"Nobody will care," Brittany mumbles.

Santana turns her head to look at Brittany. " _Everybody_ will care. They think the making out stuff is hot, but if we were to parade down the hallways like a pair of lesbos straight out of Sapphic Daily? That crap won't fly."

Brittany scrunches up her nose in thought. "But San… we kind of are."

Santana pulls the covers over her face and groans. "Valentine's Day is stupid, and we're not in love or whatever."

Her stomach clenches tightly as she waits for Brittany's argument, but it never comes. She senses Brittany's hand brushing her hip, sliding around to settle against her inner thigh.

"Britt…"

The rest of her thought gets lost against Brittany's mouth, and when Brittany climbs over her and parts her legs with a gentle knee, Santana barely remembers much beyond her own name.

Brittany's giving her an out, she'll realize later. She's giving her the opportunity not to face the prospect of walking down the halls of McKinley with their hands clasped together like a pair of disgusting high school sweethearts. Not yet, anyway, because she accepts that Santana isn't ready.

Brittany's giving her an out, and Santana takes it.

\--

It'd been hard to get Brittany away from Artie, but Santana had cornered her after Glee practice and asked if she'd stay behind for a few minutes. She'd waited for the room to clear out, ignoring the curious glances the others were throwing her, before taking a deep breath.

"San, what—"

Santana reaches over and grabs one of Brittany's hands, turning it palm side up.

"This is for you."

The card is frayed at the edges, worn, and Santana's hand trembles slightly when she tries to slip it between Brittany's fingers. Brittany takes it from her and flips it over to examine it.

"You gave this to me when we were seven," Santana says, the words rushing out. She suddenly feels like she's bleeding from the inside; she doesn't know how to stop it.

Brittany's head snaps up. "No, I didn't. I remember. You didn't want it."

"Yes, I did," Santana cuts in. "I wanted it. Everyone else got one. After you left, I took one from your backpack." She looks down at the card. "I took it and I kept it."

For a long moment, neither speaks. It isn't until a fat teardrop hits the card that Santana realizes she's crying. Brittany startles, her hand instinctively reaching to tilt Santana's chin up.

"San, why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know," Santana replies quietly. But whatever distance between them, Brittany's still Brittany, the girl she's known since forever and wanted for almost as long. "I—because even when I was seven, I was too proud to ask. It was just a stupid fucking card, you know?"

Brittany tucks the card into her waistband and reaches up to cradle Santana's cheeks in her hands. "I would've given you one if you'd asked."

Santana's heart twists painfully in her chest. "I know that."

"I probably would've given you all my leftover ones too. Some of them were really ugly. I should've given them to Rachel."

Santana laughs tearfully, and Brittany drops her hands to grab her bag. She reaches inside and pulls out a card of her own and stuffs it quickly into Santana's hand.

"Take this one. It's the one I was going to give you, remember?"

Santana swallows hard, blinking against her own tears. She's not even drunk; she wishes she could stop crying. "How do you still have this?"

"How do you still have yours?" Brittany counters lightheartedly. "Actually, I probably would've lost it, or accidentally fed it to Charity – did you know that she eats paper? I think that's where all my missing diary pages go—"

"Brittany."

Brittany smiles. "My mom kept it for me. She keeps all my important stuff because I lose things a lot, and she noticed that you weren't around anymore. She told me to give it to you."

"I don't need a card to be your friend," Santana says, echoing the same words from a decade ago. They're softer now, with a quiet sincerity that she hadn't known then.

Brittany's eyes flicker with rare recognition. "Take it anyway. It'll get eaten otherwise, and I think it's supposed to be a symbol of our friendship or something. I don't want my cat to eat our friendship. Sometimes he barfs it up and it's really gross."

Santana laughs, but she pockets the card. Instinctively, she leans in, and Brittany meets her halfway. Their lips brush, and embarrassingly, Santana moans. It feels familiar and foreign at the same time. She'd missed it so fucking much. Brittany drops a quick kiss to her nose and pulls away.

"I'm sorry I kept saying no or whatever," Santana mutters. "I messed up. I hurt you."

Brittany slides her pinky around Santana's but doesn't say anything.

"Valentine's Day is still totally lame, but… it's like Christmas, right? Giving things to people you love? And all that other stuff."

Brittany beams. "Yeah, totally."

Santana tugs lightly on Brittany's hand. "Thanks for the card, B."

Brittany lightly fingers the card still tucked in her waistband. "Ditto."

Santana pulls Brittany closer and buries her face against her neck, warm relief flooding her cheeks. Brittany squeezes back tightly, and everything slowly shifts back into place.

Santana's chest still hurts, like she's been using her heart too much, and Brittany's still too close and not close enough, but Santana knows that she's just taken the first step to patching a frayed friendship, easily the most important one in her life. She'll work on everything else – and there's a whole ton of that to sort through – later.

But if there's one thing she knows, it's that later has to be soon.

_fin_


End file.
